


Concurrence

by ember_firedrake



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Disabled Character, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 08:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6110966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ember_firedrake/pseuds/ember_firedrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the anon on tumblr who requested "the first time Flint & Silver call each other by their first names"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concurrence

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place sometime after 3x05 (I'm aware it looks like Silver is still on the island in 3x06 previews so just assume it's vague futurefic/au where he's on the Walrus with Flint again)

John Silver was grateful to be on the deck of a ship again. He tried not to think too hard on what that meant, well aware he never used to enjoy the seafaring life. Being on that island so long had made him restless, however, and there was something about the rocking of the deck beneath him that felt like home. 

In one respect there was a downside to ship life. It had always taken him time to regain his sea legs, and now with only one it was even more difficult. He nearly stumbled, grabbing at an overhead rope for balance. 

Flint shot him a sharp look that by his own standards could be taken for concern. He'd been doing that more often—watching Silver out of the corner of his eye when he thought Silver couldn't see. 

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Silver said before he could ask. 

Loath as he was to ask for help, he wouldn't say he had minded using Flint's shoulder for support on the island. Though he suspected such an offer was rare.

Silver navigated the deck as well as he could, not wanting the men to see he struggled. After having so many days to allow fresh air to get at his leg, having the boot on again was another adjustment. 

Silver gave a wince as a throb of pain shot up his thigh. No sooner had he schooled his features to calm again when Flint appeared at his side, a hand supporting his elbow. Silver bit back a remark that the captain was hovering over him like some carrion bird. He knew Flint meant well by it, and what a remarkable change that was from their interactions just a couple months ago. 

"My cabin," Flint said. "Or I tell Dr. Howell you are unwell." 

"I'm not _unwell_ , it's just...taking some time."

"Then take some time in my cabin," Flint said, his tone allowing for no argument, though the corners of his eyes softened. 

Silver considered objecting, but he could tell now this was one argument he would lose. He nodded, though he did shake off Flint's grip on his arm as he made his way to the cabin. 

Flint wasn't behind him when he arrived, and Silver shook his head in exasperation, making his way over to the window seat and carefully loosening the straps on the boot. Another pain lanced through his leg, and Silver fought back tears at the phantom feeling of his old leg. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the axe shattering bone. Silver balled his hand into a fist, pounding it on the seat beside him. 

Of course that was the moment Flint returned, carrying a bucket and cloth. Worry flitted across his features, and he immediately closed the distance between them. 

"Here, let me," Flint said, bending to remove the boot. 

Silver’s breath caught in his throat, and not just because his leg was sore. He was unaccustomed to this sort of tenderness, especially from Flint. Bringing him clean water while he sat on the beach and asking after his leg was one thing, but this went beyond a simple passing concern for the ship’s quartermaster. 

Flint pulled a stool over, sitting down so he was in front of Silver. The bucket Silver could see held water, and Flint drew it closer to his side.

“If I may?” Flint asked. 

A torrent of emotions warred within Silver, the chiefest among them being that this was a mistake. He was too vulnerable right now, tender and exposed like his wound, and inviting Flint in would lay that all bare for him to see. Silver was used to keeping himself protected, not letting anyone close. He'd seen Flint’s own vulnerabilities in recent weeks, and didn't Flint worry about giving over that kind of power to someone else? 

In the end, that was what made up his mind. Flint had trusted Silver, opening up about his past and his fears, and maybe some small measure of reciprocity would put them on an even keel. He nodded at Flint, not trusting the steadiness of his own voice. 

Flint pushed the cuff of his trouser leg higher, revealing more of the healed-over stump. Even now, months after what had happened, Silver could not shake the feeling of _wrongness_ if he looked upon it for too long. He wondered how Flint could bear to look upon it, his face attentive as he assessed it. The skin was red and inflamed in places, and Flint’s fingertips touched lightly there. Silver took a steady breath. 

“I think your boot may need readjustment,” Flint said, as he dipped the cloth in water and used it to carefully wash the area. “When seawater gets into the leather and it dries, it can cause the leather to shrink. Not to mention, the salt can cause irritation. Does this hurt?”

Silver found his voice. “A little. It’s sensitive, mostly.”

“I have something that may help that,” Flint said. His voice sounded oddly far-off to Silver’s ears, as though he heard it from underwater. 

Flint brought a small jar from the pocket of his coat. “Coconut oil,” he explained, scooping a small amount of the opaque oil. It melted on contact with Silver’s skin as he gently massaged it into the inflamed areas. 

Silver had held his breath from the moment Flint began massaging his leg, and he let that breath out now as steadily and quietly as he could. Beside him, his hand gripped the cushion of the window seat as he fought to keep his body still. There was no accounting for Flint’s gentleness in this moment. He had no frame of reference for it. It wasn't as if Silver couldn't do this himself, if Flint had instead given him the coconut oil. Why such an open display of concern? 

Flint finished his appraisal of any reddened areas on Silver’s leg. His fingers moved higher, massaging the joint of Silver’s knee. One hand cupped the sensitive underside while the other worked into tense muscle. It was sore; Silver knew he did not take care of it as he should. More than that, however, was behind Silver’s reaction as Flint’s thumb moved along the dip beside his kneecap. 

“ _Flint_ ,” Silver hissed. His heart was pounding somewhere in his throat as Flint froze, his gaze still fixed on Silver’s leg. 

When Flint looked up, there was something curious in his expression, which Silver could not identify. “James,” he said. “You can call me James.”

Silver swallowed. It felt like more than simple permission. More like...a confession. He nodded, too arrested by Flint’s gaze to make a proper reply. There was an intimacy to this moment that made something stutter in Silver’s chest, and he realized to his mortification that Flint’s gentle attentions had had an effect upon other parts of his body as well. He was hard. 

Near as Flint was, he could hardly fail to notice. Silver went tense, ready for Flint to pull away, become angry. Instead, Flint went very still, gaze angled down at the evidence of Silver’s arousal. It was difficult to see the emotions playing across his face, but he seemed engaged in some inner struggle. 

“James?” Silver ventured, reasonably certain Flint didn’t intend to have him thrown from the cabin. 

Flint looked up, and Silver felt something tighten in his chest. There was longing in Flint’s eyes, need and desire and no small degree of fear. 

“Silver, I—”

“John,” Silver interrupted. If Flint was permitting him to use his first name, if they were going any further down this path, then he would do the same. 

“ _John_ ,” Flint said, with a veneration Silver had never heard used for his own name before. “I—may I?” 

Something within Silver lurched, and he felt off-balanced in a way that had nothing to do with his physical presence. Flint wanted him. Flint _desired_ him, and it left his normally eloquent talents faltering. Silver gave a shaky nod. 

With a sigh that was half desperation, half relief, Flint fell forward. His face pressed against the front of Silver’s trousers as he nuzzled the length of his erection. Silver gasped, the pressure sudden and unexpected but not at all unwelcome. He could feel Flint’s stubble and hot breath through layers of fabric. 

It wasn't enough, though. Silver hadn't sought out anyone's company since what had happened, too preoccupied with other matters and and convincing himself he didn't need it. Now, his need was urgent, and this maddening pressure fell far short of addressing that. 

“ _Please_ , I need—”

Flint took that for the encouragement it was intended to be, his hands going to the buttons on Silver’s trousers. Silver assumed he’d simply undo the front and then continue with his course of action—what he wasn’t expecting was for Flint to draw back, tugging the trousers lower until they could be pulled below Silver’s hips, taking great care as he eased the material over first his truncated left leg, then his right one. Once Silver was naked from the waist down, Flint moved in again, guiding Silver’s legs until they rested over his broad shoulders.

Silver’s heartbeat thudded erratically in his chest. He thought he’d been open and exposed before, but it was nothing to this. Part of him considered that he ought to be frightened by that knowledge, but instead he felt a heady thrill as Flint bent his head. 

If he was being honest with himself (which he always tried to be; he was more in the habit of lying to others than himself) the moments he had allowed himself to imagine their coupling hadn’t been like this. He had envisioned frenzied passion, crashing together like waves upon the rocks. This was more like the pull of the tide, steady and inexorable. Flint took Silver into his mouth like there was nothing else in that moment he desired, sucking him with a thorough concentration that had Silver falling back on his elbows.

“ _James_ ,” he groaned, his hands going to Flint’s head, fingertips smoothing over the prickly-soft stubble. 

Hearing his name, Flint made a noise of gratification low in his throat, sucking harder as he took Silver deeper into his mouth. He drew back slightly, rolling his tongue before he sucked again. His single-minded focus was overwhelming, rapidly bringing Silver to the edge of completion. 

“Oh, fuck,” Silver panted. “James—I’m close. _Fuck_.”

_That_ part was like a crashing wave, Silver’s entire body shaking as Flint held him, hands gripping Silver’s hips as he swallowed. Silver sagged, sweat plastering his shirt to his torso as he tried to regain his breath. 

Flint angled his face, leaning against the inside of Silver’s thigh, his eyes fluttered shut. His lips were flushed and slick, and Silver wondered what it would be like to kiss him, if Flint would allow that. He wondered, too, if Flint was hard. If his own need was as urgent as Silver’s had been.

“John,” Flint murmured into Silver’s skin. 

It wasn't just about the name, Silver realized. Certainly, there was a part of Flint that didn't wish to associate with his chosen name—that much Silver had discovered when Flint had considered giving up entirely, letting self-sacrifice absolve his sins in death. 

It was what their given names entailed, trust and closeness all wound up in this newfound physical connection. Flint _needed_ it. Affection, both emotional and physical. He was starved for touch like a man dying of thirst. 

“James,” SIlver said again, and those green eyes blinked open to gaze into his. “Fuck me.”

“You're sure?” Flint asked, his brows furrowing in apprehension. 

“Yes.”

Flint retrieved the oil, using it to slick his fingers. Silver’s legs protested the sudden shift, but then Flint was back, settling between Silver’s spread legs as his hand reached down. 

Silver let out a hitching breath when the first finger pressed in. It didn't hurt—the oil warmed quickly and his body was relaxed from his own release. He hadn't done this very often, and it took a moment for his body to adjust. Using hands and mouths with strangers was one thing, but this particular act required considerably more trust than he was comfortable placing in just anybody. 

Flint was thorough and considerate, just as he'd been checking Silver’s leg. His face was intent, meeting Silver’s eyes as he slowly worked him open. When the second finger slid in alongside the first, Silver let out a soft moan. 

Something wavered in Flint’s expression, and he leaned forward. The kiss took Silver by surprise, but he responded with enthusiasm, bringing one hand up to frame Flint’s face. The slide of Flint’s lips was intoxicating, and the hair of his beard was softer than Silver might have expected. Flint kissed with desperation, and it left Silver reeling with the sensation that he might drown if he let go. He gasped into Flint’s mouth as Flint twisted the fingers within him. 

“I’m ready,” he urged. “Please.” 

Flint drew back to pull his trousers down, using the remaining oil to slick his cock. Then he was kissing the inside of Silver’s left thigh before placing it over his shoulder again, and moving his hips in closer. 

Silver let out a long groan at the press of Flint’s cock entering him. He reached a hand out, cupping the back of Flint’s neck and trying to pull him closer. With Silver’s leg folded between them there was only so far Flint could go, but Silver touched their foreheads together, maintaining eye contact as Flint began thrusting into him. 

He’d intended to gesture for Flint’s benefit. Contact, physical affection, appreciation and recognition—all the things Flint had sought out in him. What Silver hadn’t been prepared for was how it would affect him. Staring into the depths of those eyes, Silver was struck by the profound intensity of this moment, their shared breaths mingling in the space between them. Each thrust forward of Flint’s hips sending sparks of pleasure along his nerves, even though he doubted he would be able to come again so soon.

“ _John_ ,” Flint gasped, and it sounded like a plea. The speed of his thrusts increased. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Silver said, his grip going tighter, holding Flint to him like an anchor. “Come on, James.” 

Flint gave a final cry, his hips faltering as he reached completion. Silver held him through it, until Flint eased back, lowering Silver’s leg with the utmost care. 

Flint stood a moment, swaying. Silver took his hand, tugging him onto the bench beside him. Silver’s entire understanding had shifted, and he imagined whatever he was experiencing, Flint was going through the same tenfold. But he would not allow Flint to fall into self-doubt over this, not when Flint so clearly needed this and Silver had to admit part of him did as well. Whatever fears or anxieties now assailed him, Silver would not have him weather it alone.


End file.
